"Oh they are the most dreadful little creatures, aren't they? I've never once regretted taking up arms against them in the rebellions. I won't deny their ferocity in combat, but on the day we finally remove them from the British Isles I will be a happy man indeed." -Cuthbert Binns to Walter Aragon over a game of chess. December, 1794.
Chapter 4:
"May your enemies slit your throat on your way home, Evans."
"I hope you run yourself over with a cart and fall to your death, Griphook."
"A mercy if I never again have to deal with the likes of you."
"I'll be sure to celebrate when I read about the fortunate passing of the world's most grotesque goblin."
One trip to the 'Gringotts Bank" and Harry was absolutely certain – he really did not like goblins. Every single one of the ugly little creatures he'd encountered thus far had gone beyond just being rude and disrespectful, they'd pushed and pushed, apparently finding their passion in acting like cunts for no good reason. Harry was immediately suspicious when their welcoming words were a poem practically serving as an open invitation to try and rob them. If only they reserved their ire for thieves rather than patrons. Why the guard standing just inside the main entryway deliberately pointed Harry towards a clerk that couldn't assist him he had no clue, but Harry now very much disliked that guard. Why the clerk that couldn't help him had a fit after losing a grand total of 28 seconds assisting him he had no clue – but thanks to the long list of colorful insults about Harry and his family he now hated the clerk too.
The "key master" Harry had been instructed to speak with had seemed alright at first with his complete and utter devotion towards silence. That changed once Harry politely introduced himself, his circumstances, and asked for a key. Said key master was then practically apoplectic with rage. It was almost incredible watching a creature get so upset at actually having to do his goddamned job. Harry then dealt with a goblin from the inheritance department since they had to confirm his right to access the Potter vault. Turns out magical insignia are popular methods of determining identities, but since Harry didn't have anything of the sort to prove his inheritance, the goblins needed to conduct a minor blood ritual in order to verify that he was who he said he was. In the end said blood ritual only involved a prick of the finger and a few drops of blood on a rune inscribed stone tablet, but this was only after the goblins tried to convince Harry three separate times that he'd have to sacrifice an entire hand.
With his identity and inheritance proven, Harry could now request a key. So he endured 30 more minutes of bitching and moaning as the key master magically tied the new key to the Potter vault. Harry was instructed to go wait in line once more, and speak to the original clerk now that he had his key. The original clerk again could not help since "accounts that large are handled by managers, not clerks", so Harry requested to speak to a manager. The manager too was annoyed that he actually had to do his job and provided Harry with a report on the Potter vault and how much of said vault Harry personally had access to, all the while insulting him, his family, and all of wizard kind. It was around this time that Harry finally got an explanation about magical money and with it the realization that he was absolutely loaded. Harry then requested to actually go to his vaults, but to do so required the assistance of one of the "vault guides". And so Harry met Griphook...
A completely bald goblin hobbled towards Harry. Pointed eyes, pointed ears, pointed teeth pulled back into some sort of snarl. "Are you the wand-scum that needs to go see their vault personally?"
"'Wand scum?'"
"Yes or no, human!"
"Jesus, yes. What the hell is your problem?"
The goblin somehow narrowed his eyes even further, "Wizards are my problem, especially you muggle-born ones with your pithy exclamations and worship for another wizard!"
Harry shelved the racist proclamation in favor of the far more important detail in the goblin's ranting. "Jesus was a wizard?"
"Follow me, human." Harry didn't know how the goblin forced such venom into his utterance of the word 'human', but Harry chose to follow the diminutive asshole anyway. He really, really needed to investigate his vault. The Goblins tracked the amount of gold with almost a religious fervor, but all the potential artifacts and other valuables held within were simply labeled as "other".
Griphook led Harry to the most rickety and unstable cart Harry had ever seen. "Am I really supposed to ride in that?"
"Do you not trust us, human?" The goblin sneered.
Harry was quite sick of the attitude and insults at this point. "No, goblin, I don't."
"I'd say you were smart, human, but if you were actually smart you'd know that these carts are magically reinforced and thus perfectly safe!"
"Right, and I'm supposed to just believe you? Your superiors upstairs already tried to take my hand," Harry snapped back.
"Then you can go back upstairs and not see your vault, human!"
"Or we could, oh I don't know, WALK!"
"Not an option, wand-scum," Griphook said,
"Oh, I'm sorry, too far for your short little legs?" Harry countered, condescension heavy in his words.
If Griphook could kill with looks alone Harry was certain he'd be six feet under already. "Vault 687 is impossible to reach without taking a cart you imbecilic ape!"
Harry rolled his eyes but acquiesced to the goblin's claims. "I'm not the one that can't build a cart without relying on a dozen different spells."
The two traded barbs the entire way down to Harry's vault. Were he paying more attention to the journey Harry might've found the trip somewhat exhilarating but his mind was solely focused on channeling his wit and hatred towards his goblin escort.
"Honestly, with such shoddy construction it's a wonder your people haven't all killed themselves," Harry remarked. He was doing his best to channel the smug pricks he'd seen on the telly whenever Parliament was in session. "I mean, if I was as ugly as you I would've thrown myself down into the depths long ago, but that aside, construction like this has got to be pushing the limits of what magic is capable of."
"How rich of you to scoff at goblin magic when you have to rely upon wands for every little spell!" The angry goblin retorted.
"You keep telling yourself that as you hide beneath the earth little vault guide," Harry said dismissively. Having reduced Griphook to a near manic rage Harry was rather content; his victory in their little exchange indisputable in his mind. Harry assumed that there was some sort of reason the racist little cretins served as bankers rather than not interacting with the humans they so clearly hated. So he felt rather confident in his ability to insult them without being in any immediate danger. The goblins "starting it" helped too.
"Vault. 6.8.7. We. Are. Here. Wand. Scum." Every word was forced out through clenched teeth as Harry stepped past the creature with a smug smile.
"I won't say you did well, Griphook, but I did arrive safely if nothing else. One star out of five. If it was possible I'd give you a zero. Your customer service skills are just dreadful." Without waiting for a reply Harry approached his family vault. The magic in the door resonated not only with the key in his hand, but he felt it seep and spread through his entire body. An almost imperceptible hum reverberated throughout him, and in that moment he knew the magic guarding the Potter vault, the magic tied to his family's blood, his blood, was welcoming him inside.
Reading that your family vault contained over 50,000 gold Galleons didn't even come close to the awe Harry felt at seeing the mounds and mounds of gold in person. He didn't know the exact worth of a single Galleon, but given that it was 17 Sickles to a Galleon and Tom only charged three sickles for a room and some food, Harry was confident in his belief that he wouldn't have to worry about money for many years to come.
Even more important to Harry than the gold was the tables, shelves, and chests at the back of the vault. On the tables were a number of artifacts that Harry couldn't even begin to guess the purpose of, but he made a mental note to check into them at a later date. The chests filled with clothes and pieces of jewelry were pushed to the wayside without much thought, his mind encapsulated by the many, many books stacked onto the shelves or into the chests.
Most of the books didn't have titles or lettering on the spines, but after flipping through a few Harry was quick to realize that they were largely a mix journals and grimoires. In the midst of his family vault, surrounded by the history of the family he never knew, Harry began to read.
'Tuesday the 10th of July, 1274
Mother says that we are to get my wand the day after next. The journey will apparently take the entire day. I asked why so much time would be required and it is apparently due to the Ollivander family not allowing anyone to apparate onto their property. I had heard Father mention that family before when Simon was first acquiring his wand, but I had no idea that they were the only wand craftsmen in the region. Mother says that they are an old family, far older than our own, far older than anyone in England. Still, I am excited for the journey even if much of it will be on horseback. King Edward I is apparently known to go riding with the Ollivander patriarch on occasion, I wonder if I will get to see him. Eva still calls me foolish for having such an interest in the King, but she looks down upon anyone who cannot use magic. I know Father shares her views, but I cannot help but find the royal family interesting anyway. I have not spoken with Simon on this though I imagine he is of similar mind to Eva, I've rarely seen the twins disagree on anything.'
Harry's mind barely processed the magic that had to be involved that allowed him to read a journal written over 700 years ago as if it was written today. Instead he set the journal of Eustace Potter to the side and grabbed another.
'Friday the 21st of June, 1450
The discontent of the peasantry only continues to grow. Thousands have gathered to march upon London and still the king refuses to act in any way befitting his position. I spoke with William Abbott today on the state of affairs, the man is far from influential in the current political climate, but he does maintain the strongest working relationship with the king. The king's power is little, but he is still the king and that cannot be forgotten entirely. That pathetic show of force he tried to enact was always doomed to fail. I do not mourn the loss of Sir Humphrey Stafford, but the victories gained by the common rabble will only inspire more thoughts of rebellion. I have a meeting with Geoffrey Rosier and Stephen Fawley tomorrow, Stephen shares my concerns on the power this Jack Cade has come to wield and the negative impact it could continue to have on us. The two of them have concocted some sort of plan on how to disrupt the distressingly large number of gathered peasants and have since asked for my opinion. Suffice to say I am interested even while ignorant of the details. Something must be done to stop this man, and if the king won't do it, we Wizards will.'
"So my ancestors helped put a stop to Jack Cade's rebellion... wow." There was more history in his hands than Harry thought he would ever see. His family had been there for the events he read about in school, his family had helped to shape those events even! There were hundreds of books scattered around the vault, and Harry mentally resolved to read them all someday. He put aside the journal of John Potter and again grabbed another.
'Monday the 5th of January, 1693
I cried again today. I know last week I swore that I was done crying over that which I have not a hope to change but I could not help myself. Today is Abigail's birthday. I am certain that she is having a lovely day, her family always lets the kids have it easy on their birthday. I promised her last year that I'd get mother to take us to the theatre in London. Abigail had never been able to attend due to her family's poor finances. I wanted to take her before I returned to Hogwarts. She was going to borrow one of my dresses and we would have such fun! We had already planned out the whole day together, her and I enjoying every minute of the theatre, and perhaps we would have stopped by one of those coffeehouses beforehand. Mother would be there to chaperone us of course, so I doubt we would have gotten away with any kisses or lingering touches, but even then I just wanted to spend time with her on her sixteenth birthday. How I wish I could go walk by the lake with her once more. How I wish she still remembered me.'
Harry felt morose as he set aside the journal of Eleanor Potter. A teenage girl pouring out her thoughts on lost love. He couldn't relate to the girl's feelings, but he sympathized with her all the same.
A sudden spark of inspiration hit Harry over the head and he leapt to his feet checking the names held within the many journals. "Cmon, cmon, please be here somewhere..." Harry spent almost twenty minutes searching the aged but magically held together journals and notes in search of a single name. Then he found a small chest that held 15-20 journals arrayed within. Harry grabbed the first book and gently opened the cover. There, in the top left corner were the words 'Lily Evans'.
Tears began to form in Harry's eyes as he saw his mother's neat calligraphy. This was hers. Something she'd held in her hand, something she'd written in. He had no pictures of her, no keepsakes, no memories, but now he had this.
Harry had learned about his family the day McGonagall came, he'd learned about the sacrifice both of his parents had made. His father, James Potter, had instantly gained his respect knowing the lengths he went to in order to protect his family, to try and safeguard them from the threat of an insane murderer. Harry wished he could've known the man. But his mother... Lily Evans was a name he'd held dear for years. Her name was all he'd had, the only anchor to the life that could have been. Knowing the role she'd taken in the defense of his life only further cemented the love he had for his mother. With an almost tender care Harry started reading the first entry.
'Sunday the 4th of August, 1962
This is my first entry in you, diary number seven. Number six still had some room left but Sev convinced me to start a new one since this is "a new chapter in [my] life" or something. He's right though! I'm a witch! That's definitely a big enough change to warrant a new diary. A secret diary! No one but my immediate family is allowed to know I'm a witch, not even Grandma and Grandpa! I don't know if I'll be able to lie to them though... I'll have to ask Sev if there are any exceptions. I still haven't told Mum and Dad about anything. Even with my flower trick they didn't seem to think anything was different about me, but with an explanation and Sev talking too them too I'm sure they'll believe us. I'll definitely bring Sev with me, he knows more about all of this stuff right now. I wish my parents didn't need me to convince them, I didn't need anyone to convince me after all. As soon as Sev said I was a witch I knew he was telling the truth. But Mum and Dad aren't magical, so I guess that makes sense.
Oh! Sev told me about Diagon Alley today! An entire magical district hidden in the middle of London! There's apparently a smaller alley hidden in Birmingham called Origin Alley, but it's more of a historic residential district than Diagon Alley is. I can't wait to go and see it for myself! I'm still excited for Hogwarts too of course, but there's an entire world out there I've never seen. How could I not want to see it all? I can't thank Sev enough for telling me about the magical world, I couldn't imagine waiting five more years to get my Hogwarts letter delivered to me.
Tuney is still barely talking to me... she says it's because I'm spending time with Sev but I don't know. She screamed at me when I showed her my flower trick. Tuney has never screamed at me like that before. We've fought sometimes, especially that one time I got mud on her new dress, but she's never been this upset with me. I haven't said anything about magic to her since. I don't think I have anything to say sorry for? Hopefully things go back to normal with us soon.'
OoooOoooO
"What's wrong, Pet?"
"Oh nothing, I'm sure. I just feel sad for some reason. Like I lost something that I'll never get back."
"Ah, it's probably just the heat. It's really getting up there today. Dudley!"
"Yeah, Dad?"
"Go grab that spare fan we have stored away for your mother. The heat is getting to her."
"I'll get it in a sec."
"Now, boy."
"Alright, alright. God, I was just going to wait until the next break."
"We'll get you feeling cooler in no time, dear."
"Thank you Vernon, I'm sure you're right I just need a bit of rest and to cool off after working out in the garden all afternoon."
OoooOoooO
Harry left the bank that day with a magically enlarged coin pouch filled with a mix of Galleons and Sickles, a magical checkbook, and the first five journals his mother had written. He'd sat in the vault for well over an hour reading the words a ten year old Lily Evans penned to her diary. Griphook turned to loud complaints around minute 25, but Harry stalwartly ignored those. Any misery hoisted upon the goblin was a positive in his book.
Lily Evans had been an exceedingly intelligent young girl, so exuberant and full of life, but it was quickly apparent that the girl possessed a temper and a vindictive streak as well. Harry had only read to entry three when a young Lily Evans grew tired of her sister's passive aggressive actions and decided force a confrontation. Harry could not deny the shock he felt at reading the long list of vulgar words a twelve year old girl in the 60s had at her disposal; nor the punishment a young Lily enacted upon her sister in the form of bugs placed inside her shoes. Harry felt only joy at Petunia's suffering, the woman had apparently been a bitch as a child too.
Harry was glad that he had this window into the mind of his mother, a child though she was at the time. Professor McGonagall had barely spoken about them but Harry could already tell that he was receiving an account viewed through rose colored lens. That's how most spoke of the dead, people only wanted to remember the positives of those who had passed on. Harry didn't want to just know the positives of his parents, he wanted to truly know them – who they were, what they liked and disliked, their hopes and dreams, faults and insecurities. His mother's journals were the answer to a wish he didn't realize he had.
Harry had only one stop left to make before he returned to the room at the Leaky Cauldron he'd hopefully be able to rent. A wand. Harry wasn't certain the exact extent that wizards and witches relied upon wands to cast magic. He'd seen plenty of magic used by individuals without the aid of a focus, but the words of the goblins stuck with him nonetheless. Hyperbolic insults they may be, but McGonagall, the waitress in the pub, the journals, and even his list of required supplies for Hogwarts, wands were mentioned too often for Harry to ignore. Hunches and gut instincts were something Harry followed more often than not.
Harry already knew where he had to go to get a wand, he'd seen the sign earlier and the journals had confirmed it – Ollivanders. At first glance the narrow shop seemed shabby, but the longer Harry stood outside the shop the more he was certain, the building practically thrummed with age. The gold letters were peeling and the window was dusty, but Harry could feel a saturation of magic layered over the building that only compared to his family's vault.
"Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C. Gods that's a long time," Harry said. If his ancestor's journals hadn't already served as a good source he'd doubt the authenticity of the claim.
A small tinkling sound greeted Harry from somewhere within the shop as he stepped inside. A small room with only a spindly chair and a positively ancient piece of furniture that resembled a hostess stand. Along the walls were thousands of narrow boxes stacked from floor to ceiling.
"Good afternoon," a soft voice shocked Harry out of his reverie. A seemingly old man was standing in the entryway to the backroom. His hair was white, wrinkles adorning his features, his eyes pale and wide, shining in the gloom of the shop.
"To you as well," Harry said, not taking his eyes of the man who seemed to glide around the shop without making any sound.
"I was wondering when you would show up," Ollivander said, speaking to Harry even as he began to peruse the shelves.
"You know who I am?" Harry asked, taken aback at being recognized.
"Indeed I do. Your younger brother stopped by almost a month ago now. A very tricky customer that one," Ollivander responded.
"You met my brother?" Harry asked, his attempt to sound casual failing even to his ears.
"Indeed, indeed, as I just said," Ollivander stopped and looked back at Harry. "Which is your wand arm?"
"I've never used a wand, how would I know?"
"Take your best guess," Ollivander said as he pulled out a tape measure.
"I'm right handed, so right, I guess," Harry said as he held out his arm to be measured.
Ollivander didn't stop at measuring his arm from shoulder to finger, he continued measuring from his shoulder to the floor, his shoulder to his knee, toes to armpit, and even around his head. Eventually the aged man stepped away but the tape measure just kept on measuring.
"Have you any knowledge of wand-lore, Mr Evans?" Ollivander asked as he started pulling down boxes.
Harry suddenly had a very grim reminder of a man he did not wish to think about right now. "How'd you know I go by my mother's maiden name?"
"I thought not," Ollivander continued as if Harry hadn't said a word. "Yes, your brother didn't either, surprisingly enough. I'll explain anyway, every Ollivander wand has the core of a powerful magical substance. The types of substances can vary greatly, but even for similar substances no two wands are exactly alike."
"Fascinating," Harry bit out, "now how did you know what name I went by?"
"Oh, that. We both know you already know," Ollivander said, admitting to reading his mind as if it were barely worth mentioning. "Anyway, if your brother was any indicator I think you too will be a tricky customer and that excites me."
"I'm not my brother," Harry retorted, slapping away the tape measure that had just tried to measure the width of his nostrils.
"Hmm, well that much is obvious Mr Evans. And yes, do slap that thing if it keeps going. I've told it for months that we've progressed beyond measuring nostrils and eye-lash lengths but it just doesn't listen – doesn't listen at all. Honestly, as if I wouldn't progress past the level of my father."
"How obvious is it?" Harry asked curiously. "You're the first person I've encountered that's compared us."
"Honestly, Mr Evans, I do not think I am the one you should ask about such matters, my focus lies not on your physical appearance." Ollivander opened one of the dozen or so boxes he'd collected and gently extended it towards Harry. "Right then, try this one. Blackthorn wood, eight and three quarters inches long, kraken heartstring core."
"Before that," Harry paused uncertainly, "how important are wands, exactly?"
Ollivander looked momentarily amazed before understanding dawned in his eyes. "Do not be ashamed of your ignorance, Mr Evans, I will explain."
Harry nodded his head at the man to continue. He was glad that he didn't have to explain to Ollivander why he knew nothing of wands, even if the man could read his mind.
"Wands are the cornerstone of modern magical society," Ollivander said passionately, he must enjoy speaking of the craft he and his family had dedicated their lives to. "Whilst we humans are capable of magic without wands of course, we require these delicate tools to demonstrate the true majesty of spell-craft."
"I see," Harry said simply. His experiences with magic suddenly becoming a bit more clear. "Makes sense."
"Good, now that that's settled we may resume." Ollivander once more extended the box containing the previously described Blackthorn wand.
No explanation was needed from the old wand-maker on what Harry should do. The instant he palmed the wand Harry could tell that it just felt wrong. "Why does it seem so eager? No, a better translation would be... hungry?" Harry said aloud. Without waiting for a response he placed the wand back in the box from whence it came. "It was... aggressive. Like it wanted to fight to satisfy its desire."
"Interesting," Ollivander said, his voice trailing off at the end.
"What?"
"I did not expect you to be so in tune with the magic of wands to be able to discern feelings," Ollivander mused, his eerie eyes looked upon Harry without blinking. "Oh I'm really getting excited now!"
"Was my reaction not normal?" Harry asked, reaching for another box.
"The farthest thing from normal, Mr Evans. Dare I say it, abnormal." Ollivander pulled his gaze away from Harry and lowered it to the wand now held loosely in Harry's hand. "Rowan wood, nine and one half inches long but very thin, the core is a unicorn tail hair. Do indulge an old man and describe what you feel."
Harry closed his eyes as he tightly gripped the wand, mentally straining for... something. "It doesn't seem very fond of me. I can't tell exactly why though. It's almost as if it's disappointed." Harry shook his head in confusion, he knew there was more to this wand, he could feel that there was more. "It's more personal than that, it's not just disappointed, it's disappointed in me. Rejecting me specifically."
Ollivander was hanging on Harry's every word. "Fascinating," he said quietly.
Harry returned the wand to its container and immediately the foreign feelings dissipated. "Level with me, what the hell is up with these wands?"
"No no no, not these wands Mr Evans, all wands!" Ollivander exclaimed as he grabbed half the wands he'd brought out and walked away.
"That doesn't even remotely answer my question," Harry called out. He was starting to wonder if every person he met in the wizarding world was going to be vague and eccentric.
"Wands are not just tools, they are more! You don't choose a wand, a wand chooses you!" Ollivander yelled, having not ceased his rummaging around even whilst he spoke.
"Are wands alive?"
"No, no, of course not, not in the physical sense at least," Ollivander said loudly. "Metaphorically, well, that's still a hotly contested debate."
"Okay, well what do you think?" Harry asked, seeking any sort of information that was actually helpful.
"Oh me?" Ollivander's voice was muted as he crawled into a shelf that by all the laws of physics shouldn't have gone that far back. "Ahh, I settled nicely in the middle. Wands are not alive, but they need not be alive to have wills."
Finally, Harry no longer felt completely lost. "Okay, and I'm what, sensing the wills of these wands?"
"Sensor!" Ollivander loudly exclaimed. "Yes! That's the name! Ahaha, I know where that book is now."
Harry watched the man run off muttering to himself once more. Resigned to waiting while the old man searched for whatever it was he was looking for, Harry reached over and grabbed another wand box from off the stand where Ollivander placed them. It wouldn't hurt to keep testing wands in the meantime.
Barely taking heed of the physical aspects Harry reached down to pick up the wand. His fingers had scarcely touched the aged wood when he recoiled. Held within the wand was pure, unadulterated hatred. Malevolence the likes of which Harry had never felt before. Harry jumped back, eager to just get away from the wand that wanted to kill him.
"Ah, that wand," Ollivander suddenly remarked from the doorway, a small brown book held in his hand.
"What the fuck do you mean 'that wand'?" Harry exclaimed. "That thing is evil!"
"It is evil, yes, and its creation is not something I'm particularly proud of," Ollivander said sadly.
Harry glared at the man. "Then why did you bring it out for me to test?"
"Forgive my curiosity, I -" Ollivander sounded genuinely apologetic. "I haven't ever had the pleasure to observe a sensor who wasn't already bonded to another wand." Ollivander walked forwards and returned the lid on the vile instrument.
"What was that thing made from?" Harry demanded angrily.
"Yew, eleven inches long, the heartstring of an Aswang as its core," Ollivander refused to meet Harry's eyes.
"What's an Aswang?" Harry asked, the word leaving a bad taste in his mouth.
Ollivander grabbed over half the boxes he'd since removed from the stand and began putting them back on the shelves. "A particularly vile creature native to the Philippines. While many of the details can change, the consistent element to this dreadful monster is that it's known to feed off of pregnant woman and young children."
Harry stared at the man aghast. "Then why the hell would you make a wand out of something like that?"
"To prove that I could, Mr Evans. The crafting of wands is a complex and fickle art. No two wands are the same and neither is the process of their creation." Ollivander stopped and turned, finally meeting Harry's gaze. "I apologize for involving you in my curiosity but I am not sorry for the creation of that wand. I strive to create great wands and that wand is most certainly great. The combination of materials I was able to harness together – that is a great wand, Mr Evans."
Harry watched the old man turn away quietly, more boxes being returned to the shelves before they'd been tested. Harry suspected that magic had successfully pushed the ethics of the world more askew than what he was used to. The differences to the muggle world only served to fuel his intrigue.
Harry turned away from the old man and picked up the small book that had been set aside.
'We Who Sense' by Ashier Mi You. "What is this book, Ollivander?" Harry asked, slightly desperate to change the subject.
"Oh, oh that! Yes, yes, yes. It's a book that I've had around for ages. My great uncle was a sensor you see, and this book – why this book was what he always recommended to me should I wish to study the subject."
"So you're a sensor too?"
"No no, it's not something that can be learned," Ollivander paused and shook his head. "No, that's not quite right. Sensors have to learn, but very limited is the number of those who can learn."
"Huh," Harry eloquently responded. Suddenly engrossed in the small book's preface.
Harry's reading was suddenly interrupted when Ollivander pushed an open wand container in front of his face. "You may read that book later Mr Evans, after you have purchased it from me. But for now we must return to finding you a wand."
"I can purchase the book?" Harry asked, surprised.
"Yes yes, along with a wand," Ollivander said as if it were unimportant. "Now, try this one."
"No descriptors?" Harry asked, slightly wary after the old man's experiments earlier.
"For your benefit as much as mine," Ollivander quickly responded. "Without any knowledge of what it is you are holding you get to try and sense the feelings emanating from the wand and-"
"And you get to observe me as I do so, right?" Harry finished for the man.
Ollivander's smile went as wide as his eyes. "Indeed, Mr Evans."
"Alright, fair enough." Harry picked up the wand and held it aloft before quickly returning it to the box. "I felt a great deal of boldness and pride from that one. It didn't consider me worthy, I think."
"Willow, ten and a half inches long, with the feather of a hippogriff as its core," Ollivander helpfully supplied. "Yes, yes, I can see why it wouldn't choose you."
"Thanks," Harry said dryly before collecting himself. "Explain something to me though, I know you said that wands choose the wizard, but how exactly do they do so?"
Ollivander blinked. "I'm afraid I do not understand your question Mr Evans. Are you seeking a more in-depth explanation surrounding the will of wands?"
"I guess?" Harry shrugged.
"We do not have twenty years for me to teach and thirty years for you to learn, so I will endeavor to make this concise," Ollivander said, his tone brisk.
Harry was reasonably certain he was just insulted but nodded along anyway.
"The wand chooses the wizard or the witch to whom it wishes to bond with, there is no role for the wizard or witch to play," Ollivander paused and withdrew his own wand. "My own wand has been with me since I was eleven. It chose me, Mr Evans. If my father had handed to me other wands before this one its entirely possible that I would have a different wand today."
"So, there's no perfect fit?" Harry asked, clearly surprised.
"Perfect fit? Why of course not!" Ollivander declared, indignant at the very suggestion. "Did you think that if I asked you to pick a material and core that I would just be able to craft for you the perfect wand?"
"Umm, no?" Harry said, the obvious lie coming easily to his tongue. Luckily Ollivander was absorbed in his own rant.
"I have never understood how that ridiculous rumor about specially crafted wands got started," Ollivander said irately, waving his hands in the air. "Insinuating wands are nothing more than the sum of their parts, honestly!"
"I was just curious," Harry said defensively.
"Not you," Ollivander said, waving away Harry's comment. "It's the rest of the wizarding world. It's no secret that the wand chooses the wizard but these people insist on removing all agency from the wand." Ollivander grabbed another box from the large pile he'd prepared. "Now then, Mr Evans, shall we continue?"
OoooOoooO
"Who is the letter from, Daniel?"
"It's from Gringotts."
"Your monthly statement? Seems early, doesn't it?"
"Um, no. This is informing me that the other inheritor has made their rightful claim."
"Ah, that law. A holdover from the 17th century contract. There was a problem with successors robbing their own family blind when planning to skip town and head to the colonies. Murder the head of the family –"
"So, Harry's back..."
"-secretly go in as an inheritor and empty the vault. It didn't take the Wizengamot long to come up with a few fixes and then ratify the treaty with an amendment. It has been a part of The Treaty ever since."
"Do you think Harry got the letter mum wrote him?"
"Yes, I think he got the letter. Professor McGonagall said she would deliver it and I trust her word."
"I know, I know – I guess I'm just nervous."
"Daniel, did your mom talk to you?"
"About Harry? Yeah, she did."
"I don't want to dampen your hopes but-"
"We have no idea what he's like, not really. You guys don't want me to get hurt, I know."
"I'm sorry, Daniel."
"You have nothing to sorry for, Dad. It's not your fault or anything."
"No, Daniel, it really is."
OoooOoooO
After over an hour and a half of sitting on the tall spindly chair in Ollivander's shop trying wand, after wand, after wand, Harry was more than ready to leave the aged establishment.
"This one is willful and very focused, I guess," Harry said. "But like all the others it rejects me. It's as if there's an invisible barrier between us. I can sense the magic within and I might even be able to reach for it, but the wand would be fighting me at every turn."
"I see, I see," Ollivander mused. "Well, the wand itself is a very sturdy fir wand, nine and a quarter inches long, with the heartstring of an owlbear."
"Am I the tricky customer that you hoped for?" Harry asked, at this point fairly disinterested in the composition of another wand that rejected him. He'd taken to hanging his head over the back of the chair as he stared at the ceiling and watched the pattern begin to take on shape and dance.
"Oh very much so, Mr Evans. Just as tricky as your twin brother, actually," Ollivander responded.
Harry couldn't help the sigh that escaped his lips. He wasn't sure why, but comparisons to his brother had already started to rub him the wrong way.
"I wonder," Ollivander said quietly before dashing to the back.
"Wonder what?" Harry called after him, but no response was forthcoming. Harry shrugged and focused on the ceiling once more.
Minutes passed with Harry only hearing the odd sound of scraping from deep into the shop before Ollivander emerged once more, a layer of dust now coating his sleeves.
"Find what you were looking for?" Harry asked the man, sitting up straight at the prospect of something new.
Ollivander walked directly in front of Harry but did not move to offer the wand held in his hand as he had every one before. "Based on the results of the last wand you tried combined with your questions I was struck with a sudden inspiration," the aged man said, his voice soft.
Ollivander gently, almost reverently removed the lid from the box in his hand, revealing a polished pitch black wand within. "This wand is unique, Mr Evans," Ollivander began, "but no more so than any other wand in this shop."
Harry started at the bait and switch the man had pulled on him. "Then why did you have to spend minutes searching for it in the back?" Harry asked, puzzled.
"Ah, because this wand was not crafted by my hands, but by those of my grandfather, Gerbold Octavius Ollivander," Ollivander said the name of his grandfather with an unmistakable pride. "An exceedingly talented man when it came to crafting wands, everything I know I learned from him. He made this wand in 1746."
"That wand is almost 250 years old," Harry said, amazed.
"Made from dense ebony wood it is quite a heavy wand. Thirteen and a quarter inches long. Affixed with the heartstring of a particularly dangerous Swedish Short-Snout. The same Swedish Short-Snout that escaped from its handlers and caused the Tiverton fire of 1731." Ollivander didn't miss a beat as he recited the characteristics of the wand he didn't even create.
"Grandfather purchased the heartstring and a number of claws at auction once the beast was put down," Ollivander continued. "He was eager to see it choose someone so as to get a grasp of its true potential, but he obviously died before he was able. My father never got his chance either."
"And now?" Harry asked, starting to get excited at the prospect of this incredible wand being his.
"You are only the second individual I've brought this wand out for, Mr Evans," Ollivander said. "I suspected it would choose Tom Riddle many years ago, but he was selected by another before I could pull this wand out of its container."
Harry's breath caught in his throat at the mention of another Tom but he resolved to mentally deal with that later. He would swear that the more Ollivander spoke the more he felt the magic of the wand calling to him.
"How I and my fellow wand-makers know how to pair wizards and witches with their wands is a trade secret I'm afraid," Ollivander said, "but suffice to say you met the standards, and now I offer to you this wand."
Harry reached his hand forward to take the wand for Ollivander's hand. The instant he grasped the magical wood he knew that'd found his match. Magic he hadn't ever felt welled from within him and resonated with the ebony wand held tightly in his hand. It wasn't just a tool, it was practically an extension to his arm – the missing limb he never knew he'd lost.
The feelings Harry felt from the wand merged seamlessly with his own. It was bold. Harry was comfortable. They knew who they were.
"This is my wand," Harry said, elation reflected in his features. Without prompt, and for the first time since Harry had been told he was a wizard, he tried to use magic. It was raw, forceful, and primal in execution, but magic flowed from within Harry out of the ebony wood he held aloft.
Darkness blanketed the room, the only light the silver glow emanating from Harry's wand. He stood there, amazed and utterly transfixed on that which he'd wrought throughout the room. Slowly but surely swirling lights began to form in the darkness, taking shape and moving – movement that he knew reflected the experiences he'd already had since learning of magic.
"A beautiful spell if I do say so myself," Ollivander's voice breached through the silence as the man materialized from the darkness.
"I don't know if I could count this as a spell," Harry said, his voice quiet even to his own ears. "I just tried to use magic."
"Magic often reacts to our subconscious," Ollivander said softly, his eyes tracing the light show.
Harry would've stood there and watched for hours, his mind absolutely encapsulated by the magic he'd somehow created. His trance was interrupted by Ollivander's hand suddenly clamping down on his shoulder.
"This experience will prove a lovely memory for us both, Mr Evans," Ollivander said. "But I think I am going to bring it to a close here. I would like my store back, after all." The old man removed his wand from his sleeve and waved it almost dismissively. His features were briefly puzzled before he turned to Harry, a small smile in place.
"A more potent spell than I initially suspected," Ollivander remarked. "Finite Incantatem."
Harry watched the man form deliberate motions with his wand as he spoke the spell, and just like that the darkness faded away. Harry was sad to see the spell dissipate. Whether it was the fact that it was the first time he intentionally cast magic or the actual effects he knew not, but a melancholy atmosphere settled over him.
"Congratulations, Mr Evans," Ollivander said. "I do believe that you shall surpass my expectations for such a wand."
Harry mutely nodded his thanks before turning to retrieve the book on sensing he was given permission to purchase. "So how much are these going to run me?" Harry asked.
"Before I get to that, I have one other item I believe you'd like to take a look at," Ollivander said.
"And what would that be?" Harry asked, curious as to what else the man could offer.
"A wand holster," Ollivander responded. "A simple but brilliant design that uses rune inscribed corded leather in the shape of a simple bracelet. On this bracelet is a small loop that one can easily slide their wand into."
"What do the runes do?" Harry asked.
"In this case everything," Ollivander said, seemingly surprised by the question. "They hold the bracelet in a fixed location, they keep the wand secured, they allow for wands to be easily drawn and holstered away once more."
"Are they a new invention?" Harry was already sold but more information couldn't hurt.
"A new innovation on an old invention," Ollivander said brightly. "The old wrist holsters were these long leather bracers that extended from the finger to the elbow. But a wizard named Skomjorn, a rune-master from the Nordic region, successfully inscribed interlocking three dimensional matrices onto corded leather and created the version that is commonly used today."
"I'll take one," Harry said quickly. An unobtrusive holster that's easily hidden and allows wands to be quickly drawn? It wasn't even a question.
"Then I shall go retrieve one for you," Ollivander seemed happy with his sale.
When the old man returned Harry immediately slipped the holster onto his forearm. True to his word, Ollivander's description was almost perfect. The bracelet, as Harry could not really bring himself to think of it as a holster, was tightly wound aside from a single loose portion that his wand slotted into perfectly. The bracelet was fixed in place and scarcely noticeable despite being pressed against his arm. Even the long piece of wood was unobtrusive despite Harry's brain telling him that given the length it should be in the way.
"I love magic," Harry said quietly.
"I trust you can figure out the exact mechanics on your own time, Mr Evans," Ollivander said, cutting in to Harry's intense inspection.
"Right, right. So how much will all of these run me?" Harry asked for the second time.
"Fifteen galleons for the wand, five for the book, and another fifteen for the holster." Ollivander didn't even have to think. "More expensive than what I would normally charge, yes. These items are either older than I am or younger than you though, so I believe there's something to be said for their value."
Inwardly, Harry recognized that he was about to spend more money than he had ever dreamed of being able to spend frivolously, over 5000 pounds if his math was correct. But the simple realization that he could easily afford the purchase washed over him, and suddenly Harry no longer cared about the cost at all.
"Worth the money," Harry responded simply as he pulled out the checkbook the goblins had provided to him. He paused when he realized he had no pen. "Umm, do you have something I could write with?"
Ollivander surprised Harry when he pulled out a brilliant black-feathered quill and passed it over.
"Any ink?" Harry asked. He wasn't that familiar with quills but he was reasonably certain quills and pens did not function the same way.
"Magic, Mr Evans," Ollivander responded dryly.
"Ah, right. That," Harry said lamely, his face lightly flushed at the blunder. Just another reminder to not treat this world with the logic he was familiar with.
"Just input the amount, the date, and sign your name. Those checks are tied to both your vault and your blood," Ollivander explained helpfully. "If anyone but you tried to make use of those checks there would be dire consequences."
"I'm surprised the goblins would go so far for their clients," Harry muttered.
"Yes, well, unpleasant though the goblins of Gringotts may be, there is a reason our society entrusts them with our money," Ollivander said.
"I'll remember that," Harry said, mentally filing away Ollivander's specificity in referring to the goblins as 'Gringotts goblins.'
Harry finished filling out the check noting how odd it felt to write with a quill. Scratchier than any pen he'd ever used, but the ink flowed easily all the same. His writing had never been considered neat before, now it was only one step above chicken-scratch. Ah well, it was still legible. Barely. "Annnd, signed. Now what?"
"Now we use this rather helpful device the goblins invented and just like that the money will be transferred from your account to mine," Ollivander said.
Harry watched as Ollivander pulled out a small device that somewhat resembled a muggle cash register but was smaller and had far less knobs and buttons. "Huh, that's convenient," Harry remarked.
Ollivander nodded. "Oh quite convenient. This device is only around a hundred years old. It used to be that we carried large amounts of coins with us everywhere. We had to visit the bank in person constantly," Ollivander trailed off for a moment as he continued to work the odd machine.
"If one were to ask me," Ollivander continued, "I suspect the Gringotts goblins invented this just so they would have to interact with humans less."
"Helping us in the interest of not having to deal with us," Harry said dryly. "Somehow that logic seems perfect for a goblin."
"It does, doesn't it," Ollivander said as he passed the check back to Harry. "That there is a copy, Mr Evans. I will hold onto the original for legal purposes whilst you keep a copy as a record of our transaction. It would not do to fail to keep track of our finances, now would it?"
"In case you get audited?" Harry asked.
"Something akin to that, yes." Ollivander said mysteriously.
Harry was more than content to not pry further. Ollivander was an odd man who's company Harry was ready to be done with at this point. "Right, well, thanks for your help, I guess. I'm still annoyed at you for that shit you pulled earlier," Harry said, unwilling to give the man a pass on the awful experience.
Ollivander merely shrugged. "Farewell, Mr Evans. I think we shall be seeing each other again."
"Not soon, I hope," Harry said quietly as he stepped out of the shop and onto the still busy streets of Diagon Alley.
OoooOoooO
"Why would you suggest such a thing?"
"I thought it best, at the time anyway."
"Separating us was for the best? Are you kidding me?"
"Daniel, I won't deny that in hindsight it was a mistake-"
"Yeah, obviously."
"-but at the time we were scared. Your parents were dead, my mother was dead. Our homes were supposed to be safe and it was clear that they weren't."
"How the hell is that supposed to justify sending Harry away?"
"When Lily did whatever it is that she did, she left behind powerful defensive magic. More powerful than anything I've personally seen."
"I know, her magic is what protected me from Voldemort."
"Yes, but what you don't know is that Dumbledore figured out how to tie that magic into a ward scheme."
"He what?"
"You heard me correctly. He said he couldn't tell exactly what it was or how it was created, but the magic could be interacted with."
"How does that explain why Harry and I were separated?"
"I'm getting there. The protections your mother left on you were also on Harry just to a lesser degree. The house was destroyed but the only scratch on either of you was your scar. It was clear as day that your mother had shielded you both from harm."
"Dumbledore... He created two safe houses instead of just one, didn't he?"
"There was no such thing as too careful back then..."
"And you all chose me instead of Harry because I was The-Boy-Who-Lived, right?"
"Your name had already been revealed to the world. We knew the likelihood of you being targeted was far higher than the relatively unknown older twin."
"But it was you who had the idea for everything?"
"Yeah, it was me."
"Was the Fidelius charm an option?"
"No, for three reasons: One, the Fidelius charm doesn't play well with other wards. Two, only one secret per secret keeper. Three, the secret keeper being inside the secret they are keeping will slowly but surely erode the charm. No one knows why but it's a fact."
"Oh."
"Which brings us to the other reason why it's my fault."
"There's more?"
"Alice suggested that she take Harry while I keep Neville and yourself. We'd each be the other's secret keeper and we could all stay safely hidden until it was time for you all to go to Hogwarts."
"I – I don't-"
"It was me that convinced her not to. I don't think she's ever really forgiven me for that."
OoooOoooO
As the sun began to dip into the horizon Harry realized that he'd have to hurry if he wanted to get back to Beth's place and move out before the day's end. Shops and curiosities by the dozens pulled at his attention as he made his way back to The Leaky Cauldron. As much as he wished to explore now, he had time for that starting tomorrow.
"Keep walking, Harry. Just keep walking," he muttered to himself. Luckily, the old tavern wasn't far from Ollivander's shop, so Harry wasn't exposed to temptation for long.
Entering the pub Harry immediately made his way to the bar. The tavern was packed compared to earlier in the day. Harry glanced around and saw people seemingly from all walks of life gathered to eat and enjoy a nice drink at the end of the day. Tom was nowhere to be seen but the woman running the bar approached in his stead.
"What will it be, dear?" She asked kindly, a warm smile on her face.
Harry realized in that moment that he had no eaten since breakfast. He wasn't certain as to what exactly he was smelling, but he quickly informed the waitress of what he needed, "I'll take an order of whatever it is that smells so delicious."
The barkeep raised an eyebrow but still smiled as she poured Harry a water. "Alfie's on the grill tonight, I'll tell him to throw on another steak, yeah?"
"You and Alfie are both angels," Harry said, returning the woman's smile.
"I'll be sure to let him know," the barkeep laughed as she turned away to refill another drink.
"One quick question if you have the time," Harry called after the woman.
"I'm listening," she responded, still facing another patron.
"What time will Tom be back in?" Harry asked, slightly concerned that the busy tavern would run out of rooms.
The woman glanced back at Harry in understanding, "you're the kid that wants to rent for a few months, aren't you?"
"That's me," Harry said proudly.
"Don't worry about your room dear," the barkeep returned, "Tom already has one set aside for you. Said you all could talk payment whenever you next see each other." The woman gestured up the stairs with her free hand. "Room number nine, ready for you whenever."
His room secured for the night, Harry let out a content sigh he hadn't realized he'd been holding. "Thank you," he called out to the woman that was once more absorbed in keeping her patrons at the bar happy.
Harry turned around and gazed upon the friendly and warm atmosphere that permeated the tavern. "And thank you, Tom," he muttered quietly to himself.
Harry stayed in the pub while he enjoyed his dinner. Alfie's skills on the grill were something to write songs about. Shortly after his food was delivered Harry noticed a large group of wizards and witches gathered around what appeared to be a radio.
Magical, I'm guessing. Harry thought to himself. It wasn't immediately obvious, but Harry now understood that while the magical world lacked electricity, they did just fine without it.
"What are they listening to over there?" Harry asked the man sitting next to him.
The man in question was rocking the salt and pepper look but didn't have a wrinkle anywhere on his features. His eyes were locked onto the barkeep, more specifically the woman's backside, but still he responded easily, "they're listening to the quidditch game."
"Quidditch?" Harry said, confusion evident in his tone.
"Haven't heard of quidditch, eh?" The man chortled. "Muggle-born then."
"Muggle raised, actually," Harry countered. "Just learned of my heritage yesterday."
"Welcome back then, dear!" The barkeep entered the conversation at this point. She wagged her finger at the man next to Harry. "And you, Luca, don't think I didn't notice you staring at my ass for the last half hour."
"If you knew I was watching then you should've done a dance," the now identified Luca said with a wink.
The barkeep only laughed before turning away once more, a noticeable sway in her step that showed off her assets quite nicely. "I take it you two flirt often?" Harry said, highly amused by the duo's antics.
"Oh often enough, Kiara and I have been married 35 years now so that's how it goes," Luca said fondly.
Harry glanced at their hands and saw matching silver bands. He shook his head at having missed such on obvious detail. "Yeah, that makes sense then," he said. "So, tell me about quidditch."
"Best sport in the world," Luca let out a hearty chuckle. "Two teams, seven players per team, six hoops, a total of four balls in play at all times, all hundreds of feet in the air."
Harry let out a long whistle. "I'm sold."
"Damn right you're sold!" Luca said enthusiastically. "Order another drink, I'll explain to you the rules and the like; and then I'll tell you about one of the greatest matches of all time – 1958, Japan versus Morocco, the semi-finals of the World Cup."
Harry was momentarily tempted to ask for a rain-check and keep to his schedule, but he was in a new world, he was a new Harry, and he was going to follow his every whim and desire until it killed him.
"Kiara," Harry called out, raising his hand in the air, "I'll take whatever you're allowed to serve me, and another drink for your husband as well please."
Luca laughed uproariously, "good man, good man. What's your name, kid?"
"Harry Evans."
"Listen well Harry," Luca began, taking a large swig of his drink, "listen well and appreciate the glory that is quidditch."
By midnight, Harry was a die-hard fan.
